Promise Me This (Between Breaths 4)

My eyes on her, taking in every single square inch of her body, she brushed past me to the bathroom. “Let’s get my tire fixed so we can get on the road and out of town.”

She knew I was checking her out and she didn’t even try to hide from me. She just let me look. Let me see what I’d be missing from this day forward. She was just that kind of girl. Strong enough to take my shit. Any shit I threw at her.

But I wasn’t strong enough to give it her—to allow her to see me fully.

I was petrified. She knew that as well. Fuck, how did this girl see me so clearly?

The door shut behind her and I heard the shower turn on. For a minute, I considered going in, pushing her against those cold tiles and burying myself deep inside of her. Forcing her hands up against the wall while I took her from behind. The image alone made a violent shiver race through me.

I went to the car for her after her shower, because she remembered she had some dry cleaning in the backseat. Then we got ready together in silence. She pulled on this soft skirt that went to her knees with the rock-and-roll T-shirt she wore last night. For the first time, I saw her as more of a pinup babe than an edgy girl.

With the black makeup no longer obscuring her eyes and the stiff gel washed away from her hair, Jessie was easily the prettiest girl I’d ever laid eyes on.

Thankfully the hotel also provided travel toothpaste, so I was able to brush my teeth after my shower. We gathered our belongings, checked our phones, and pretty soon, we were heading out the door.

When we got to the car, her tire was even lower, close to being all the way flat.

Without even arguing about who was driving, she handed me the keys and slid in the passenger side.

“I’d kill for some coffee right now,” she said. Her voice was groggy and it reminded me of how it had sounded last night. I adjusted myself and shifted into gear.

I drove to the garage and pulled inside. The place was packed with cars waiting to be serviced, but given our story, they agreed to squeeze us in. We had about an hour wait for them to check and plug the leak, which was the option Jessie had chosen, because she didn’t want to buy a brand-new tire.

I opened my mouth to warn against it, but then clamped it shut. I got it. She was struggling through college and didn’t have credit readily available like I did. A lot of my friends were in similar situations.

We hiked along the gravel road to grab breakfast at a nearby IHOP and as a truck roared down the street, I instinctually grabbed for her hand. She balked momentarily, but I ignored it. Switching sides, I positioned her away from the road, in case another semi came screaming by. It was a protective gesture and she squeezed my hand once, as if in thanks.

Her fingers were so small and I liked the weight and feel of them. I never held a girl’s hand before, besides my high school girlfriend’s, and certainly never paid attention to how it felt. Holding Jessie’s hand made it seem like I had someone in my corner, someone to lean on, someone who got me.

We sat in a booth by the window and ordered coffee and omelets. I liked that Jessie ate what she wanted to, even a side of bacon and hash browns, and didn’t act like she was constantly watching her weight like other girls.

She looked so soft and feminine today, even though her outfit showcased her sleeve of tattoos. The blue in her hair was hidden beneath the cocoa strands that were lying flat. She got stares wherever we went in this small town, but she wore her confidence well and that had always been what I liked most about her. Her poise and self-reliance.

But I saw a gentler side to her last night. A vulnerable side—when she’d begged me to taste her. And I wouldn’t be able to dislodge that memory from my head for a very long time.

I had no doubt that we’d just go back to being who we’d been to each other before this weekend. She was already playing the role and I appreciated that. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say a big part of me was bothered by it.

Wasn’t she suffering as well—that heaviness in my chest, nearly weighing me down, the knowledge that last night had been almost life-changing for me—wasn’t she feeling that, too? That she was the first girl I revealed that piece of myself to and even though I hadn’t planned on showing it, I was moved by our night together, transformed even.

As she sat there sipping her coffee, I wanted to grab her and shake her and make her see exactly what she’d done to me. How she’d sliced me open and laid me bare—exposed my inner parts that had been lying in the shadows. Then she’d know that I’d never forget what had happened between us and would probably always fantasize about my night with her.

But I also felt relieved that she couldn’t see inside me that way. Because then she’d realize that I’d wanted to take things even further, and she’d see just how much of a deviant I could be.

“So tell me about the place you wanted to show me yesterday,” she said, breaking me out of my weighty thoughts.

“Huh?” I said, staring at her full pink lips, my knee now jiggling a hundred miles an hour.

“Last night, at the bar,” she said. “You said you wish you had time to show me one more place but then my tire happened.”

“It’s this old abandoned railroad bridge,” I said, remembering how my brother and I had discovered it one day. How I’d gone there a couple of times by myself to sit and think, feeling like I was the king of the world, elevated that high. It had solidified my love of bridges. “You want to go, before we leave town?”

“Absolutely,” she said, a pretty smile lifting her lips.